“Good,” he says. “She likes a good survival story. Elizabeth, I need to ask, you didn’t—”
“I didn’t tell anyone about the photographs,” I hiss. “Your secret’s safe.”
“Thank you,” he says. “You should probably go in there.”
“Yeah.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.” I rub underneath my eye and I step inside the hallway, leaving Elijah behind.
I walk towards the small, wooden door at the end and I brandish my knuckles against it, unsure of what else to do. A few seconds later, it opens to reveal a tall man wearing a black and white suit. He holds the door open for me and I step inside the room, which is, yet again, another office filled with shelves of books and antique furniture.
Katherine sits at a desk before me, her eyes down as she writes on a piece of paper without looking up. The man holds out a hand towards the chair opposite her and I take that as a gesture to take a seat.
I fidget inside of it before clearing my throat and entwining my hands together along my knees. Katherine continues to write inside a thick notepad, her hand moves quickly and efficiently, with confidence, not hesitation.
“Name?” she says.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper.
“I know,” she says, suddenly meeting my eyes and grinning. “Elizabeth Sanchez.”
I stare at her, when I look into her eyes, all I see is Edward looking back, the boy that looks exactly like me, her son. “Yes.”
“Joined three weeks ago,” she says. “How are you finding Cross Academy?”
“Is that a joke?”
“Excuse me?”
I bite on the smile that tries to form on my face. “It’s great.”
“Great,” she repeats with an eyebrow raised. “According to our records, you haven’t had any known convictions as up to yet. You appear to be following the rules. Correct?”
“Correct,” I lie.
She glances up, her mouth slightly hanging open and she begins tapping her Biro pen against the notepad as she observes me. “It must be hard being the new girl. The members here can be quite… vigilant. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve by being here?”
Is that a trick question? She stares at me for an answer, so I don’t think it is. But it has to be. How can I hope to achieve something that comes from the act of whipping, dehydration and isolation? How can I possibly want to be something else when I’m not even sure what their goal is?
Many words come to mind to answer her question. Many words fill my head, most of them curses and unforgivable, yet, justified wishes on her health. And it frustrates me that I cannot use them. I have to delve deep into the little box of my mind to pick out a new batch, the batch that informs her that I am succumbing to her ways of ‘treatment’.
“Forgiveness,” I say. “For my sins.”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes going down. “Your sins. Sex before marriage. Smoking. Drinking alcohol. Not abiding by the word of God and those he had chosen to guide you.”
I grin. “That’s my parents, right?”
“Right.”
“Amelia and Jonas,” I say. “My parents.”
Her eyes widen just slightly, but she gives nothing away. “Yes. To rid yourself of the sins of your past, it will take a long time until that forgiveness is earned.”
“What if I forgive myself?” I question. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“No.”
“So, only God can forgive me?” I say. “Which God is that?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but there is only one God.”
“And he speaks through you?” I say, leaning back in my seat. “What does he say? Does he tell you to beat young girls? Does he tell you to hold people against their will until there’s nothing left of them?”
She straightens. “That’s enough.”
“Does he tell you to starve them and isolate them from the rest of the world because ‘this place’ is the only sanctuary?”
“That’s enough!” she snarls.
“Does he tell you to take mothers away from their babies?” I say, my voice reigning over hers.
Her face drops. She tilts her head back, staring at me.
“Does he tell you to commit these acts in his name?” I demand.
“What are you talking about?” she says. “What babies?”
“Does he tell you anything?”
Her eyes drop down, just for one moment, as though she’s lost in a sudden memory; a memory that takes her a thousand miles away, to somewhere that was buried inside of her. And then it is gone.
“Y-you!” she begins, rising from her seat. “You are to have no water, no food, no sleep, nothing!”
“Have I touched a nerve?” I say, crossing my arms.
“Do you want to be down-graded?”
I smile a little. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t play smart with me now, Elizabeth. I’m not playing.”
“We both know it’s not going to happen,” I say, again.
“And why is that?” she demands.
I take a breath; my voice drops an octave lower as I shift my shoulders and merge with this newfound situation that makes me sick to my stomach. “Because I’m your daughter.”
“Do you need medical attention?” she says.
“You’re going to deny it and that’s fine,” I say. “But I know the truth.”
She slumps back into her chair and begins tapping her pen against her desk again. “Dehydration is a horrible thing. It can make you imagine things that aren’t there.”
“I’ve been to the drinking fountain, I’m fine. What I’m curious about is how you pulled it off. Did you swap identities? Did you just hand me to them and order them to raise me?”
“This is all in your head, Elizabeth. You are not my… daughter.” She breathes that word down, slightly cringing to herself. “You are wrong.”
I observe her, watching as her body language completely changes. One moment, she was calm and looking me head-on, the next, her eyes are resting sideways towards the ceiling of the room as she stares into the empty air and takes hollow breaths.
I drop my eyes. What if I have got it wrong? What if I misinterpreted the meaning of the name swaps? What if the fact that Edward resembles me is just a coincidence?
I don’t know anymore. I was sure about this. It was the only thing that made sense. Katherine had a daughter, she didn’t want a daughter, and so she gave my mother her identity and her child, and told her to raise her away from the compound. It explains my entire life. Their lack of love towards me, their lack of anything towards me. Why would they care and love a child that isn’t theirs? It further explains why I haven’t been placed in group D as of yet. I’m probably the most-sinned member here, in theory, I should have been a concern to Duncan the moment I arrived. I would have been the best test subject.
Or is there something else they want from me? Either way, I cannot tell Katherine about the photographs without landing myself in a torture chamber because I’d never drop Elijah in it. She’s always going to deny it and without proof, I was foolish to believe I could extract it from her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my forehead with the back of my head. “I think you’re right, I’m dehydrated. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Her eyes move back to mine and she smirks, showing no concern for me. “I wish I could believe that. But I’m afraid, your situation just became critical.”
I hear the door open from behind me but I’m too afraid to look.
“Critical?” I whisper.
Her eyes go above my head and she speaks through the corner of her mouth. “Critical.”
I feel giant bodies loom above me, I lift my head up, my eyes meet the point of a long needle that comes towards my throat. I begin fighting, my hands going up in defence as I struggle against arms that suddenly tighten around my shoulders.
The needle presses into t
he side of my throat and I feel a bizarre sensation travel throughout my body. The sensation begins to tear away my thoughts, replacing them with blank spots of confusion and delirium. My hands go limp, they sprawl over the handles of the chair as I blink to remain conscious, as I fight to remain conscious. It’s too strong. It’s taking me, it’s creating a hole of blackness that begins to suck away at my flesh.
Katherine’s smug face begins to blur, along with the entire surroundings of the office and I can’t tell if I’m falling asleep or if I’m leaving this world.
No, I can’t leave yet. I can’t go yet. What about Mary? What about Carol? They need me, they need me to be strong, they’re relying on me. They’re all relying on me. This can’t be it. I try to focus on their faces, of Mary’s little smile, of Carol’s grounded eyes. Faces appear, one after the other, first Elijah and then Nathan. Nathan. His face is the one I want to cling on to, to guide me into whatever is waiting, but my mind won’t let me, the images slip away along with the rest of my thoughts.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” Katherine says.
And then, I go.
Chapter 40
I stand at the edge of a cliff, crinkling my toes into the dry, hot rock. Above me is a blood-red sky that produces scavenging ravens so enormous that they look like small jet planes. As each raven swoops down towards me, I still stand still, as though I am glued. My hands go down to my ankles and I eagerly pull at them, trying to free myself from the spot that I cannot leave.
I’m stuck.
The ravens crash into my body from all angles; their snarling beaks peck at pieces of my skin that they begin to like the taste of. I become panicked. I twist my body to try to glimpse the rest of the platform that I am a prisoner to, but a strong force twists my body back to forwards—as though strong arms just turned me.
I look forwards, while still trying to break free from the edge. Below me is not an ordinary ocean. The waves do not glide, they swivel, as though they are spin balling towards the bottom of the rocks. Every time a spin ball hits the cliff, a piece of the edge cracks off and drops—as though it is just a jigsaw puzzle being pulled from the artwork. The water doesn’t look like water, it is not blue, it is bright purple with mysterious black blobs that resemble bubbles hidden inside and they are only visible when the water breaks apart to let a spin ball take off.
Another spin ball hits, and another piece of the edge breaks and falls, leaving me with only a few more hits left until I’ll fall.
The ravens swoop down again, their beaks fishing for more flesh. I cry out as one of them lands on my chest and begins fiercely pecking into the top of my throat. I try to move my hands, but they won’t move, none of my body can move. Every part of me is stuck.
I’m paralysed.
Whispering sounds begin to come from above me; at first, I think it is the wind, but there is no wind. The air is stiff, non-existent. The whispers come closer to my ears, until I can hear someone speak as though they are standing next to me.
“Fall. Fall. Fall.”
“Closer.”
“Rip the flesh.”
“Fall to death.”
When the raven clinging to my chest finally takes to the sky, I let out a scream of frustration; but no noise comes from my mouth. I close my mouth for a moment and then I open it again, letting out the first words that come to mind. But I can’t hear it. I can’t hear myself speak. I can’t hear anything and my body is jolting more forwards with every crash from below.
“Save yourself.”
“Jump.”
“Can’t you jump?”
“Can’t you move?”
“Are you a prisoner?”
I stare ahead at the purple water as their voices are the only voices I can hear. If I jump, I’ll die. But maybe, that’s what they want. Maybe, that’s the only way to break myself free from the paralysis. They won’t let me run away, but they’ll instead have me face my darkest fear head-on. And my darkest fear, is drowning. I don’t know why it is drowning, but the thought of not being able to breathe twists my stomach. No matter how hard you fight for it, no matter how hard you fight to live, to kick to the surface, to be okay—you will feel something press against your chest, as though it doesn’t want you to go and it will drag you with it.
And that thing, is death.
I am not scared of dying. I’m scared of drowning. I’m scared of suffocation.
“Make your choice.”
“Jump or fall.”
“Be brave.”
“Jump.”
“Fall.”
“Jump.”
Another crash rocks the cliff from below and I’m literally hanging on to the edge by the back of my feet. One more blow and I’m gone. No matter what I choose, I’m still having to face the water.
I stare at it, swallowing down the terror, and trembles that are rising to the surface of my mind faster and bolder. I take a deep breath and I close my eyes.
“I jump,” I say. I hear my own voice clearly and a smile develops across my face.
I bend my knees, I swing my arms and I leave the tiny edge of the cliff to embrace the airless air. My body is pulled downwards, towards the thunderous spirals and even though I should prepare myself for the collision, I’m remaining thoughtless.
I close my eyes. As my body hits the thick, sharp water; as it hardens into icicles that pierce all over my body and plunge me into death, into darkness, I use the last of my moments to wonder one last thing.
Who am I?
Chapter 41
My eyes snap open and my mouth unleashes a gasp so long and loud that I feel my chest tighten. My first instinct is to look up at the ceiling and to check there is no blood-red sky or ravens pecking at my flesh. I begin to feel my body and I slowly start scratching into my collar bone as I lose focus on what is real and what is imaginary.
“Elizabeth,” someone calls. “Are you alright?”
I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who that it is, I’m confused and lost. I lean back into something hard and tears begin filling my eyes. I don’t know what to remember. I remember the ravens, I remember dying, I remember feeling sharp, pointy icicles stabbing me all over my body. Over and over and over again.
A shadow suddenly appears from the bottom of my bed and I flinch, taking short breaths as my body sinks below the covers.
“It’s me. Carol,” the voice says.
I blink at the person, my surroundings becoming darker and darker the more I squint into them.
“Jesus,” she says. “What did she do to you?”
I suddenly need to be sick and I jump up from the bed, running over to the corner of the darkness to unleash the bile that flows from my mouth like a river. I can’t stop throwing up, it won’t stop coming out, even when it’s just runny liquid, even when it’s hardly anything but the jolt of my stomach itself trying to come up. I fall to the cold floor, my back presses into a wall underneath a dim candle light, and I pant as many figures come closer and closer towards me.
“I don’t think she knows who we are,” a voice says.
“It’s just temporary memory loss, she must have been through quite an ordeal.”
“Be careful.”
A girl crouches down to my eye-level. She has pretty eyes, but an unattractive nose. She snaps her fingers before my eyes and I blink at her, but she begins to blur.
“Holy shit,” she says. “Elizabeth, do you know who I am?”
I bite on my lip and then a laugh escapes from my mouth. “You have funny eyebrows.” I turn my attention towards the pile of gooey liquid beside me. “Is that edible? I’m hungry.”
“No, no, it’s not edible,” the girl says, she clicks her fingers at my face again. “Focus on me. Listen, you’ve been gone for three weeks. Do you remember what happened to you? Do you remember where you were?”
I scratch my temple. “Eaten by ravens.”
“What?”
“Eaten by ravens.” I repeat.
“This is useless,”
a voice says from behind the girl with funny eyebrows. “She’s been drugged, probably concussed, probably comatose. She’s gone.”
“She’s not gone,” the girl with funny eyebrows says angrily. “She’s just been somewhere for a long time and she doesn’t know what’s real or not.”
“Can’t you pinch her? Doesn’t that work?”
“That’s to wake them up.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Argh, what the hell.”
I feel a sharp pain in my arm as the girl with funny eyebrows digs her dirty nail deep into my skin. I let out a gasp of shock and I stare at her.
“You pinched me.”
The girl smiles wildly. “How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t understand,” I cry, I begin banging my head back into the wall. “I don’t understand!”
“What happened?” the girl persists. “Tell us.”
“I was in another place,” I say, blinking at one of the lanterns. “I was at the edge of a mountain, no, a cliff and I had to jump. And I did. Over and over again, I jumped. Why am I here?” I rub my eyes. “Why am I back?”
“It’s okay,” the girl says. “It wasn’t real. Do you know who you are?”
I pull at my hair in a panic and then hands grab mine, just as I start to remember.
“Elizabeth,” I say. “My name is Elizabeth. Or is it… I don’t know!”
“You’re right,” she says. “That’s your name. I’m Carol. Your friend.”
I stare into her eyes and I focus on the kindness in them, I think I can trust her, I think I know her. I scratch at my head again and more images begin to flash inside of my mind. They’re over-whelming me, everything is colliding into one huge mountain of confusion.
“What’s the last thing you remember before the cliff?”
“A woman,” I say. “A face. And then pain in my throat.”
“A needle?”
I nod. “W-what’s happening to me?”
I begin to feel a pull of exhaustion, and my eyes start to slowly close and then open again and then close. Carol’s face remains my focus, but I can’t stay alert anymore. I breathe heavily, my heart takes off without warning and then a mighty sting emerges from my chest. My arms fall limp, my face droops outwards and my body slides further down the wall.
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